Tribute
by hogwartsharpist
Summary: Celebration of DHpt2 anniversary! Glimpses into the lives of the characters, one year after the final battle. Where are they now? How have they changed? And what does ice cream have to do with it?
1. Chapter 1

** So, dearest fandom, today is July 15th. A day of many tears and much rejoicing and many, many containers of Ben and Jerry's. Yes, that's right – it's the anniversary of the Deathly Hallows 2 premiere. **

** Basically, I felt like I needed to do SOMETHING Harry Potter related. So here's a tribute to you, my dearest, most beloved fandom. **

On July 15th, at precisely 10:02 in the morning, Lavender Brown looked in the mirror for the first time in a year.

She would have bitten her lip in horror at the sight she saw, but she knew from experience how much that hurt, so she refrained. The face staring back at her had her pretty blue eyes. It was all that she saw of her old self.

The rest of her face was ravaged beyond recognition, marred by one long, thick, corded scar that twisted from her left temple to the right side of her chin. The remainder of her face was peppered with dozens of tiny scratches, which after a year still hadn't healed. She knew they never would.

Lavender would have cried, but she knew from experience how much salt water leaking into her wounds hurt, so she refrained. The face staring back at her had been vivacious, lively, animated. Now it was something out of a nightmare. Something that belonged in a dark, dank sewer somewhere, out of sight, out of knowledge. It was a cruel twist of irony for a girl who had always placed so much emphasis on appearance. With a cry of anguish, she punched her mirror into a thousand fragments.

It felt good.

And even though she knew better, she started to cry. And that was how Dean Thomas found her.

…...

"Oi, Lav, where –" He stopped when he saw her sobbing on the ground. Awkwardly, he stepped back, assuming that she wanted some alone time. Then he took a few steps towards her, wondering if he should comfort her. And stepped away again uncertainly. And finally just stood there and felt useless. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Er, Lav, is this a bad time?"

She raised her head but faced away from him. "Yeah, you could say that," she hiccuped.

"Can I help?" he asked softly.

She snorted. "Become a healer and find me some miraculous cure for incurable wolf bites, and yeah, then you can help me."

He winced inwardly. He'd been coming by her flat a lot recently, figuring she'd want the company. At first her appearance had shocked him. But quickly he'd learned to look beyond the damaged face. She'd confided in him that she hadn't looked in a mirror since Fenrir Greyback had savagely attacked her. But it seemed that she finally had. "Look, Lavender," he said gently. "I know this is a tough day. It's the anniversary of the Final War, isn't it? The anniversary of. . .your attack. But just so you know, I'm gonna be here for you, yeah?"

She didn't turn around, but he heard the smile in her voice. "Yeah."

He coughed. "And since I'm rubbish when it comes to crying women, I brought along some friends to help me."

She stiffened. "What? Who?"

Dean grinned. "My friends Ben and Jerry. They're sweet. You'll like 'em."

…...

"My taste buds are dancing the conga." Lavender closed her eyes in bliss. "This is the best ice cream I've ever had!"

Dean chuckled. "Phish Food. It's legit."

"Seriously. Why isn't this container bigger?" She laughed as he brought out another container of Phish Food. "You got it covered."

Dean laughed in return. "You know, I think spoons are too slow," he mused. He threw his spoon over his shoulder and started to eat it with his bare hands.

Lavender squealed. "Don't eat it all!" She laughed and copied him.

"Hey! I wanted that bit!" he teased and tossed a bit in her hair.

She shrieked and smeared it in his face. Soon they both looked more like the Abominable Snowmen than actual human beings, and they were laughing like maniacs. Then Dean choked on his ice cream, which made Lavender laugh harder, which made Dean laugh and choke again, until they were both rolling around on the floor in paroxysms of hilarity and getting ice cream all over the carpet.

It took them the better part of five minutes to regain some semblance of sanity. "Do you have. . .any more?" wheezed Lavender.

"No, good thing or we'd die of asphyxiation," Dean gasped in return. And Lavender giggled at that, not because it was funny but because it felt so good to laugh.

Then she remembered why she hadn't laughed in so long. She remembered her monstrous face. She remembered that it would frighten any normal human being.

"Why aren't you horrified by me?" she whispered.

Dean sat up and scooted over to her. He put his arm around her, and she tried not to shrink away. "Because I was in the same war you were," he murmured. "Because I remember a girl from school who was bursting with life and happiness, and I miss her, and I just found her. Because you are the most beautiful thing in the world to me. And that's all that matters." He kissed the top of her head.

Lavender would have kissed him back, but she knew she'd have all the time in the world with Dean. So she just closed her eyes and let herself be loved.

**Hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Oh well. Posting it anyways. I don't think all love stories have to be bold, brassy, in-your-face (cough*Twilight*cough). Some creep up on you. Some are quiet and peaceful. I have no idea why I chose Lavender, or why I paired her with Dean Thomas. I felt like she deserved a happy ending. I weep at their Mary-Sueness! I'm sorry! I'm sleep-deprived. And Potter-deprived. And rambling. Should I post another chapter? Let me know in the reviews :D**

**Love,**

**americanathogwarts**


	2. Chapter 2

**All righty, I got a few requests to continue (thanks everyone!), so here's Harry's not-so-auspicious beginning to an already rather awful day.**

"Potter!"

Harry Potter closed his eyes, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and sighed deeply. It was a ritual he'd developed to help him cope with his superior's incessant nagging. And today, of all days, he could tell he was going to need patience with Williamson.

"Potter, where's Weasley?" Williamson's lower lip protruded petulantly. The little man straightened his rich velvet green waistcoat over his pudge and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, as if his frustration was burning the bottom of his feet. "He hasn't reported in for duty yet! I'll be writing a report if he doesn't show up in _five minutes and counting_!"

Harry tried to remain calm. "Ron's going to be spending some time with his family today, Mr. Williamson."

The man's eyes bulged. "Family? Spending time with his _family_? Aurors don't have family time," he spluttered. "What about his job? He's an Auror-in-training! That comes first!"

Waving his wand so that his papers fluttered into neat order, Harry took another deep breath. Today, of all days...He'd hoped when entering that the Auror office would be the one thing in his life that would make sense, besides Ginny, treacle tart and his two best friends. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody had always seemed so in control, so unflappable. And if Harry needed anything in his life, it was control. He'd gone from Undesirable Number One to savior of the wizarding world with one Expelliarmus. People couldn't look him in the eye, couldn't speak to him without awe. He hated it.

When he and Ron had made the decision to join the Aurors, he'd been pleasantly surprised to find his coworkers were hardly in awe of him. They were more concerned with tracking down dangerous fugitives and the like, and an awkward, seventeen year old boy fresh out of Hogwarts was hardly remarkable to them. The only exception was Williamson, head of Auror training. At first, he'd been shell-shocked that Harry Potter was training under him.

_Hardly the case now_, Harry thought wryly. He turned to face Williamson, who had gone a Vernon Dursley shade of red. "Ron realizes how important Auror training is, Mr. Williamson. But he's spending time with his family today." He said the words impassively, just like an Auror ought, but inside he was fuming.

At first, Williamson had been a hero-worshipper. But once he had realized Harry didn't fit the mold of arrogant, overbearing luminary, he had adopted that attitude himself, as if proud he could subjugate the great Harry Potter to any sort of humiliation. But Harry wasn't in any mood to put up with it today. Today of all days.

Williamson swelled like an angry balloon. "But-but-he can't! He's due to practice poultice brewing today! Doesn't he take poultices _seriously_? This is going on his record!"

"Mr. Williamson, Ron takes poultices very seriously," Harry said drolly. "But he hasn't taken time off since January, and he needed a break."

"Aurors don't take breaks!" squawked Williamson. His large chest was so puffed out in front of his small body that he looked like a bantam rooster ready to fight.

"_This one does_!" Harry roared. He had finally reached the end of his rope.

Williamson looked stunned by his sudden anger. He was turning an interesting shade of eggplant. "What did you say, Potter?" he bawled.

"I'm leaving for Ron's, Williamson. I only came in here to drop off some paperwork. Because I need some family time too!" He poked a finger into Williamson's swelling chest. "Have you forgotten what day it is?"

Williamson sputtered like a broken car engine. "I-I-"

"July the seventeenth. The anniversary of the deaths of some of the greatest witches and wizards I have ever known. Of some of your fellow Aurors. I'm taking a day off work to honor them, and I'm not surprised that you've forgotten." Harry pushed past Williamson, getting his anger under control. "Write up all the reports you want, Williamson. I'm going to spend some time with people who care about more important things."

Williamson mouthed soundlessly as Harry left the Auror office. The Ministry Atrium was nearly bare of people, with only a few loners scuttling around. It seemed most people had gone home to remember. Harry's attention was drawn to the hundreds of banners dominating the room. Tonks grinned down at him from one, Fred winked at him from another, Remus smiled, Mad-Eye scowled kindly, Sirius laughed, Dobby looked excited to see him, Snape looked just the opposite. Albus Dumbledore looked at him over steepled fingers, and his eyes twinkled.

Harry smiled up at them all, the casualties of the second wizarding war, the reason he was going to the Weasleys to have a quiet day of remembrance. He knew they would never truly leave him.

**Sorry it wasn't as touchy-feely as the last one. I tried to show Harry's pent-up emotions in this one, because I thought he'd be extremely strung out about the anniversary of so many deaths. Not all the posters were of those who died on the anniversary, but as their deaths were so important I decided they deserved to be included. **

**Should I write more? Leave your answer and story suggestions in the reviews please :) and have an awesome day!**

**Love,**

**americanathogwarts**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey readers! Long time no see. I'm having a writing bug, so I figured I'd make the most of it and update Tribute. **

His final preparation complete, George Weasley sat back and admired his handiwork. _It'd do you proud, Freddy, _he thought.

"GEORGE!" his mother shouted up the three flights of stairs. "TIME FOR DINNER!"

"COMING, MUM!" he bellowed back. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

**(just pretend this is a line break, my computer always messes with it.)**

"Well, it's nice to see everyone together for once," beamed Mr. Weasley. He looked around at the table full of family and friends. "Harry and Ron out of Auror training, Ginny and Hermione out of school, no one off chasing dragons, or pretty Romanian girls for that matter..." he looked meaningfully at Charlie, who coughed.

"I'm sure we all know the date," Arthur said quietly. "It's the date of one of the worst and best days of my life. The date I lost my son, and so many friends. The date Voldemort was finally killed. Some people will mourn this day, others will celebrate it. I'd like us to do both." He raised his glass. "A moment of silence for those we loved so dearly."

Everyone copied him. George saw tears on everyone's faces except Harry's and his own. Harry looked stoic instead, and George remembered Ron telling him something about finding Harry sobbing in his bead, night after night, racked with guilt over the deaths of so many. Like Harry, George had cried enough. He had decided to remember Fred with joy – not sadness.

"Thank you," Arthur said quietly after a long period of time. "Now let's celebrate! In memory of those we lost and in memory of the fall of the Dark Lord!"

Everyone cheered and began talking. George was able to slip away unnoticed. He snuck into his mother's kitchen, said a silent prayer that his mother wouldn't find him in her kitchen because she'd murder him, and grabbed the package he'd hidden under the sink. He opened it, magicked the contents into the air, and muttered a spell. They disappeared. If he'd done the spell right they should now be on the dining room table. No one seemed to have noticed the extra food appear among the already heaping plates. He slipped back into his seat.

"Treacle tart!' Harry said excitedly. "My favorite! Thanks Mrs. Weasley!"

"Redvines?" Ron read the label dubiously. "Is this some sort of Muggle thing?" He bit into one and his pupils dilated at the sheer deliciousness of it.

"Bertie Bott's!" Ginny squealed. "Mum, I thought you banned these after Fred – I mean the twins – " she faltered at her brother's name – "switched them out for rabbit droppings!"

Mrs. Weasley frowned. "I did. How did those get on the table?"

She was interrupted by the sound of everyone finding their favorite food.

"Monkeybread!"

"Escargo!"

"Cockroach Clusters!"

"_Cockroach Clusters_?"

"No way, those are my favorite too!"

"That's bloody disgusting."

"Fish and chips!"

"Raw steak!"

George grinned. Let the games begin.

All of a sudden Harry disappeared in a puff of orange smoke and was replaced by a mustachioed tamarin monkey. He looked confused for a moment, then started jumping up and down and screeching.

Ron stared at him, then started laughing uproariously. But his laughs were soon replaced by the cock-a-doodle-doos of a rooster, as he suddenly sprouted feathers and a scarlet red gobble.

All around the table, animals suddenly exploded into being. Ginny became a burro. Next to her was a moose. There was a camel, a fiddler crab, a snail, a wallaby, a boxer, a miniature narwhal in its very own aquarium, a draft horse, a komondor dog, a sloth, a tapir, a starnosed mole, a platypus, and one very scared looking Bill.

George was in tears on the ground. "Oh...my...Godric...oh my Godric...I've died and gone to the zoo...Mum's a sloth...a _sloth_...Bellatrix, slain by the mighty sloth..."

The animals were frantic (except the camel, who just spit and ate the Cockroach Clusters) and it took them a while to calm down. Finally one by one they listened to the sloth, who was crawling around and beating them around the head until they shut up. Then, slowly, dangerously, it approached the supine George. The look of utter death upon its face was enough to inspire fear even in him.

"It was only a joke, Mum," he said hastily. "Just to crack a few smiles..."

The sloth motioned for him to come closer, then slapped him across the face. Its padded hand didn't hurt much, but George winced so his mother would feel better.

"I guess I deserved that."

The sloth turned in a circle, pointed at itself, and patted its own back. "Turn you back?" It nodded vigorously. "What if I refuse?"

The sloth thought for a moment, then crawled back onto the table and pointed at the tamarin monkey. It mimed throwing something. The monkey understood immediately and a moment later had something in its tiny hands.

George's eyes widened. "Those aren't raisins, are they?"

Bill shifted. "What are they?" he asked. George jumped – he'd forgotten his brother was there.

"Tamarin monkey droppings. They're rather famous for flinging their own waste about."

"And why are my family animals?"

"Ah. Finally a reasonable question. Remember the Canary Creams? Well, me and Fred developed a specialty line. You know, treacle tart equals tamarin monkey. Tamarin treacle. Camel Clusters. Rooster Redvines. Etc, etc. We were going to do it at Ginny's birthday party – " the boxer barked indignantly " – but, well, Freddie decided to leave the responsibility to me, I guess."

Bill looked sad. "You did it justice, brother." They were silent for a moment, remembering Fred's many plans. Then Bill looked confused. "Except for me. Why aren't I an animal?"

George laughed. "You're already a werewolf!"

"Half a werewolf."

"And the other half, too! You wolfed down food before you got bitten!" Their chuckling was interrupted by another slap across George's face. "Sorry, Mum. Er, it should wear off in a bit." The monkey raised its handful threateningly. It pulled back, ready to swing...

And in another puff of smoke, Harry was sitting there. He sighed in relief. Then yelped and threw his pile away from him in disgust.

It landed on the sloth's face. Harry paled. Around the room, barks, neighs, and various animal noises changed into roars of laughter. Everyone from Ron to proper Percy was in stitches. Even Molly's husband was seized in paroxysms of hilarity.

The sloth finally morphed into Molly, who didn't move an inch. She remained frozen for a solid minute, then reached gingerly to wipe off her face.

Harry, too, didn't move. His face remained utterly horrified as his stared at his girlfriend's mother. George was seriously considering doing a sloth and slapping him across the face to bring him back to reality. But Mrs. Weasley spoke first.

"As much as I'd like to banish my son to the outer reaches of Anarctica, I'd like to take what my husband said to heart. This is a day of celebration. And I think we've lived it the way Freddie would have wanted. To Fred Weasley, the boy who never stopped laughing."

Everyone cheered her statement. Harry stopped looking terrified and cheered along. George leaned over to Ginny. "Don't ever let him forget he flung his own poo at Mum."

"I don't plan to!" she laughed.

George smiled. It was in moments like this, where everyone was laughing, that he felt the veil thinned and thought he could sense his twin near.

**Well, I didn't have the emotional capacity to write a sad one about Fred and George. I died when Fred died. And I was thinking about his character and how much he loved making people laugh, and I thought this was a fitting Tribute. Trust me, I think George had plenty of angst. It definitely wasn't all pranking people in Fred's name. But how would Fred like to be remembered?**

** Sorry it wasn't very funny. But just picture Molly as a sloth.**

** Love,**

** americanathogwarts**


End file.
